


Who Would You Be?

by My_Alter_Ego



Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Drowning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, Neal’s Past, Pipedreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29287014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: Neal is undercover trying to take down an art thief when it all goes awry. Peter has to watch Neal almost die, and the aftermath makes both men admit to some sobering thoughts and speculations.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey
Comments: 5
Kudos: 61





	Who Would You Be?

Peter was driving like a deranged madman through the streets of Brooklyn towards Red Hook. He was trying to catch up with a speeding vehicle just ahead of him. It wasn’t hard to keep the Subaru Crosstrek in sight because it was an iridescent gold color. Peter couldn’t fathom what criminal idiot, who should want to remain inconspicuous to evade the law, would drive around in something that shouts, “ _Hey, look at me!”_ Actually, that doofus was someone who had Neal beside him in the passenger seat.

Peter’s CI had been undercover cozying up to a thief who had wreaked havoc on a MoMA exhibit of Chagall paintings a few nights ago. Neal was supposed to be the fence in the deal, but the spooked criminal made a rash decision when Peter and his team dropped into his lair unexpectedly. Neal tried to stay in character by fleeing right alongside the thief. His intention was to hang in for the long haul so that he could know exactly where the White Collar quarry would eventually hunker down.

Peter was getting nervous as the escape vehicle zoomed along the narrow side streets, careening around corners and bouncing off curbs and the occasional trashcan. Brooklyn was Peter’s stomping ground and he knew it well, probably more so than the criminal at the wheel. Peter’s heart suddenly leapt into his throat because he realized that a disoriented driver was headed down a one-way thoroughfare that led directly to the docks abutting the Upper New York Bay. Peter screeched to a halt, leaving half his tire tread on the asphalt, just in time to see the Subaru launch itself like a seagull in flight off the pier, arc slightly, then settle heavily into the icy February water. By the time Peter wrenched open his door and raced over to the frightening scene, the car was nose down in the frigid waves it had created and was sinking fast.

Peter was suddenly on autopilot without a lot of thinking or planning going on in his mind. He quickly shrugged out of his heavy wool top coat and then dove in just as Jones and Diana skidded to a stop and witnessed their boss’s heroic effort. Peter’s body suddenly clamped down on itself as the freezing water penetrated his clothes. He had to struggle to make his limbs move, but then he reasoned that he could do this. There were a lot of diehards living along the East Coast who routinely participated in the Polar Bear Plunges every winter. Those macho dudes laughed at Jack Frost and posed for selfies after their romps in the waves. Then they enjoyed their hot toddies and waited for their testicles to descend back down from inside their bodies. Maybe that crap was fun for them, but not for Peter—not this time, not when Neal’s head had yet to break the surface of the water.

Peter dared to open his eyes once he was submerged, hoping they wouldn’t quickly turn to icy marbles. The day was a typical wintery overcast one with not a ray of sun to make the inky water any clearer. Peter vaguely saw the dark outline of the car a little bit below him, slowly settling itself into a sandy grave, but he didn’t see Neal. He dove down closer and noted that the passenger door was hanging open. Peter then quickly shut his eyes again and thrust out his arms all around him in continuing circles, searching by feel rather than by sight. After several nail-biting minutes, his fingers snagged on something solid, and when he squinted, he saw it was an arm, Neal’s arm, that was wafting listlessly in the depths of the Bay. Peter’s chest was screaming for a sustaining breath, but he ignored his body and concentrated on dragging Neal’s limp one to the surface. He almost felt like crying when he saw members from the New York Fire Department throwing him a life line.

FDNY hadn’t come alone in their hook and ladder truck. They had brought along their EMT vehicle with trained professionals ready to strut their stuff. Peter was immediately swathed in heavy blankets, while an unresponsive Neal was laid out flat on his back as CPR was begun. Peter, Jones, and Diana didn’t realize they were holding their own breaths as air was forced into Neal via an ambu bag. After a few tense cycles, the drowned young man’s body spasmed convulsively and he began coughing and spewing out water from his lungs, water probably containing any number of polluted carcinogens and bacteria. Only then, did Peter exhale.

A quarter of an hour later, Peter remained cocooned in blankets while sitting on a gurney in the overheated EMT ambo. Neal was lying across from him on his own gurney gazing up at the ceiling. The paramedics had deemed them both stable, but the first responders were still working outside on the thief whom the firemen had finally extricated from the sunken car.

“You look like a Mexican burrito with an FDNY hat stuck on its head,” Peter quipped, as he gazed at his swaddled partner fondly.

“I feel like a popsicle,” Neal muttered. He was still shivering occasionally and his lips looked more blue than pink. Peter compulsively continued to chance speculative glances at the EKG tracings on the monitor to make sure the comforting spikes continued their regimented parade across the screen.

“Maybe if you had a bit more fat on your bones for insulation, you wouldn’t have wound up so hypothermic,” Peter teased before becoming serious. “You really had me worried for a while, Buddy,” he admitted softly.

“Yeah, well, I was worried, too,” Neal confessed. “I really thought my number was up.”

“Is it true that your life flashes before your eyes when you think you’re going to die?” Peter asked softly. “If that phenomenon did occur, I’ll bet it was a montage of James Bond, Indiana Jones, and the Roadrunner feats of daring,” he added to lighten the moment.

“Not really,” Neal shrugged as best as he could under his mound of blankets. “It was more like an ohmigod bolt out of the blue. I figured that I was going to leave this world with no second chances, and, to tell you the truth, that really pissed me off.”

“Do second chances mean that, if given the opportunity, you’d be somebody else?” Peter wanted to know.

“Peter, the life I’ve been living hasn’t exactly been a picnic,” Neal snorted. “From start to finish, it’s been one hell of a rough ride, and being somebody else—actually, anybody else, seems to have potential merits and quite an allure.”

“So, who would you be, Neal, if you were given the choice to start all over again from square one?” Peter asked curiously.

“Hey, this is my private existential pipedream, and maybe I don’t want to share,” Neal complained.

“Listen, Buddy, I just risked life and limb to save your ass—and maybe any future children because I flash-froze my nuts,” he added as an afterthought. “So, I think I deserve some compensation for my selfless heroics.”

“Why is it so important for you to know something that’s really all just a fantasy?” Neal asked curiously.

“Because you’re important to me, Neal,” Peter replied earnestly. “C’mon, indulge me by telling me who a young Neal would have become when he grew up if life hadn’t stacked the karmic deck against him.”

Neal huffed out a frustrated sigh. “This is beyond awkward, Peter.”

“Look, Buddy, it’s just you and me here, and nothing that comes out of your mouth will surprise or shock me,” Peter cajoled.

Neal decided to close his eyes before speaking. “Well, knowing what I know now, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to become a lawman, and I definitely wouldn’t have tried my hand at forging bonds and cashing them.”

“That’s highlighting the broad strokes encompassing actions rather than aspirations,” Peter pointed out. “Just pretend you have a clean slate and no baggage from the past. Tell me who Neal Caffrey might be if he had the power to change his personal history so that it didn’t resemble a game of Jenga?”

Neal was quiet for several minutes before finally giving in. “Okay, I’ll pander to your nosiness so I can pay my debt of gratitude to you, once and for all. Then we’ll never speak of it again!”

“I’m all ears,” Peter urged.

Neal closed his eyes once again—perhaps to mentally form a vision, or maybe to avoid seeing Peter’s face. “Maybe I picture a Norman Rockwell portrait of a family seated around the Thanksgiving table in some nebulous city. There would be an assortment of aunts, uncles, and cousins, as well as a mother and a father and maybe even a brother or a sister for me so I wasn’t an only child. I’d grow up and earn a degree in the Arts from some university and then I’d meet Kate by chance in a quiet little coffee bistro. We’d instantly realize we were soulmates and we’d travel the world together before settling down in a little cottage in the Cote d’Azure with a garden for her and an artist atelier for me. We’d eventually add a son and a daughter, along with a dog and a cat. We’d grow old together and be happy.”

When Peter remained silent, Neal grimaced. “Sounds boring and dumb, doesn’t it?”

“No, it sounds wonderful and beautiful, and I wish that was what your life had been like,” Peter said with a bit of melancholy in his tone.

“If you ever mention this to anyone, I’ll deny it all!” Neal threatened, now emboldened enough to give Peter a cool blue-eyed glare.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Peter reassured the young con man. “But if that had been your life, then our paths would never have crossed, and there would be no June or Mozzie, either.”

“Yeah, I guess there are always tradeoffs in any life, real or fanciful,” Neal whispered. “And if I’m going to be truthful, I’m not sure that I’d want to have those voids in my life. So, maybe I’m right where I should be.”

“Yeah, you are,” Peter agreed. “You’re right here by my side.”


End file.
